


Wild Heart

by silverneko9lives0



Series: Sanzeuh Kumathelh [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Based on Bearskin, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: It is difficult to be the last skin changer in existence. Even if Beorn were to venture into the towns of Men or elsewhere, he was often stared at for his giant stature and wild face. Despite his appearance and temperament, Beorn has always been kind to whomever he met. Even to those who wished him harm (though he wasn’t likely to lie down for his enemies either). But that changes when he finds a wounded Elf-maid from a battle and saves her life. He didn’t expect to win her love in return.





	1. Chapter 1

~Aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies~

The Orcs were to be burned.

All the dead would be burned in mass graves set for each of the five races that fought, though Beorn didn’t understand.

Why not leave them out?

It’d be free food for the wild things.

Still, he sifted from body to body, helping gather the dead, carrying one corpse by one to their respective pyres and ditches before returning to the field to find the next.

He lifted an Elf.

This one was lighter than the others, fairer of face – if such a thing was possible.

The elf coughed, blood draining down his chin.

“I’ve a live one!” he bellowed, carrying the elf to their camp.

On approach, the Elvenking exited and raced over to them, taking the Elf in his arms.

“Tauriel! Iellig!”

_Iellig…Daughter._

Beorn stared at the Elf-Woman again, noting the femininity in her that he did not notice before.

The Elvenking collapsed, weeping and speaking in Sindarin rapidly.

Healers pried her free from the king and carried her to the tent where they could begin their work. Their prince helped the king up, whispering what Beorn guessed were reassurances.

He left.

The Elf-Woman was with her people now and would be cared for. He needn’t worry about what would come next…

~Four Years Later~

Life went by as peacefully as he could hope for.

Sometimes people would come seeking safe passage and sometimes he would grant it.

Other times he would not.

He kept the lands as orc and goblin free as he could. Sometimes he’d have to deal with a troll or two.

All in all, it wasn’t much different than the times before that great battle.

Until he woke to a raven cawing at him. He glared at the bird, but it ruffled its feathers and pecked at the message tied to its leg until Beorn took pity and went to help it.

Once relieved of its burden, the raven flew off to get some water from the birdbath with the other birds lounging around.

Beorn unfurled the scroll and sat down as he read:

> _Dear Beorn,_
> 
> _I hope you are well._
> 
> _Given all that you’ve done for our family, Thorin and I thought it only right that you come to our wedding in two months’ time._
> 
> _Even if just to see Fami again. You’d be amazed at how big he’s gotten! Sincerely and gratefully_
> 
> _– Bilbo Baggins._

A wedding?

He never thought he’d be invited to anything, let alone a King’s Wedding.

Would it be insulting to refuse?

Probably would.

With a sigh, Beorn resigned himself to going and wrote his response while the raven rested. When the note was ready, he tied it to the raven’s leg and let it return home.

He’d pack for the journey in the morning and go through the forest. Preferably getting through Dale without distraction if at all possible.

Men were more prone to staring at him and Beorn found it often vexing.

Still he’d have to go through Dale, no matter how much he’d rather avoid it.

Knowing that the quicker the better, he finished packing, had a light dinner, and called it an end to his day. Now if only sleep would stay with him rather than be chased away…

#

Halfway through Mirkwood, Beorn came across a caravan of Elves.

There were several tents erected.

The largest was situated in the center.

Elves walked about, prepping sleeping areas and campfires.

The closest to him were three guards sat around a fire, laughing and joking while eating fowl and lembas bread with flasks held by their knees while they ate.

One saw him and jumped to his feet, pulling his sword free.

“Who goes there?” he barked in Common.

The other two joined their compatriot, food and drink forgotten on the ground.

Beorn held his hands up.

“Peace,” he said. “I am on my way to the wedding taking place in the Lonely Mountain.”

The guards still did not seem to want him to pass.

_This is why I don’t like going anywhere._

He was often too intimidating, even when he attempted to be calm. Beorn kept one hand free as he reached for the letter Bilbo had sent him.

When he found it, he approached them and handed them the note. The one who spied him first read it. He hissed something in Sindarin and went to the large tent.

Neither Beorn nor the other two broke eye contact as they waited. Beorn was about to leave and try to go around the group – or give up completely – when the Elvenking stepped out and approached them.

“Master Beorn,” he greeted. “You are most welcome here. Come. Join me in my tent.”

He turned to the guards, who bowed and lowered their weapons at last. The king gave Beorn a gentle smile – one he guessed was revealed only to those the king cared for.

But the king did not care for him. Beorn barely knew him.

Still, refusing would be just as insulting as refusing to attend Bilbo’s wedding, so Beorn followed the king into the camp and into the tent.

For as tall as Elves are, Beorn barely fit in the tent and was glad when a seat was offered. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about bumping his head and ruining the tent’s set up.

“I have not had a proper chance to thank you for finding Tauriel when you did.”

“Your daughter,” Beorn recalled. The king arched a brow. “You said as much that day.”

“I did? Well, in a way, I suppose she is, but we are not blood. She is my ward and my captain. I was emotionally distraught after the battle. Too many of my people had passed needlessly. Seeing Tauriel near death as young as she is…” He exhaled. “Still, she lived because of you. Any later she might have died. Tauriel and I don’t always see eye to eye, but she is a brave woman and someday may be as great as Lady Galadriel.”

Beorn shrugged. It certainly looked like the Elvenking was downplaying how much the Elf-Woman meant to him. Almost as if he was ashamed of showing emotion.

Elves.

It was as if emotion was meant to be hidden for them.

Beorn didn’t entirely understand.

Animals showed emotion regardless of what was going on. Animals were expressive.

The races that considered themselves more “intelligent” were far more likely to hide their emotions.

Not just the Elves, but Men as well. And Dwarves…Hobbits might be more sensible in that regard, but he only knew one Hobbit.

It was odd to him. Surely it must be easier to let one’s emotions out.

Wouldn’t it?

“I must insist that you travel with us to the mountain,” Thranduil said. “It will be easier for you to pass through Laketown and Dale if you were with us.”

“I do not need your aid.”

“No? My own men were startled, to put lightly, when they saw you. I do not find it difficult to imagine that the mortal Men at the base of the mountain will react any differently. I promise it will be easier. Maybe not swifter…”

“You will not take no for an answer,” Beorn surmised. Thranduil’s lips quirked in a half smile.

“Indeed, I will not.”

“Then I will not fight you on this. If I am welcome in your company, I will stay.”

“Excellent! What would you like to eat? Or have you eaten already? – I ask because it’s either that or risk getting an earful from Bilbo. Hobbits are not the sort to cross, especially that one. If I am anything less than a decent host, I fear he will find a way to twist my ear and damn how undignified it looks! His beloved Dwarf king would encourage it, too, I’m sure.”

Beorn bit back a laugh. He could see it.

In fact, it seemed that Thranduil had been taking lessons in Hobbit hospitality from Bilbo Baggins, way he chattered about it…

“I have eaten already,” he assured him. “But I will not turn away your alcohol.”

Thranduil nodded. “Will wine do? I drink nothing else.”

“Wine would be fine,” Beorn agreed.

The king snapped his fingers and a servant Beorn had not seen stepped forward, filling a goblet for him. It was small in his hand, but he couldn’t complain.

Dorwinion wine was strong as it was.

“The last you saw Captain Tauriel, she was wounded and unconscious,” Thranduil said. “I was not remiss in letting her know who her savior was and she had expressed interest in meeting you to offer her thanks.”

“It is unnecessary,” Beorn assured him.

“Nonsense,” Thranduil said. “Galion, send for the captain.”

The servant bowed and left the tent.

Beorn took a longer sip this time. Well, more a gulp than a sip. Thranduil was not the sort who did not accept a refusal of any sort easily if at all.

The tent flap opened and Galion returned with the She-Elf. Now that she was not near death, Beorn could see how she radiated strength.

She held herself tall and proud. Her frame was lithe with defined muscles. Her auburn hair gleamed like fire in the light, held back by two small braids pulling it out of her face. Her eyes were clear blue, with a flicker of mischief that remained in the eyes of the young, though she clearly reached her majority some time ago, Beorn supposed.

She was not like most women of any race. This was a warrior-maid worthy of renown, as her adopted father was convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

The king and she conversed in quick, light Sindarin for a brief moment before she turned to Beorn.

She pressed her hand to her heart and bowed her head.

“ _Êl s_ _íla erin l_ _û e-govaned v_ _în_ ,” she said. “You are the skin-changer that was at the battle four years ago, I understand.” Beorn nodded. “I owe you my gratitude, Master Beorn. My bow is yours if you wish it.”

“That is unnecessary, my lady,” he said, trying to be reassuring. “You are bound to serve your king, anyway. Aren’t you?”

They both glanced at Thranduil, who seemed happy enough to ignore them, handing Galion his wine goblet for refilling.

“He would understand more than you think,” she said. “Besides, I do owe you a life-debt. I am honor bound to repay it in some way.”

“I do not hold you to any sort of standard.”

Tauriel frowned at that, as if him rejecting her offer was both confusing and insulting.

“I hold it to myself. You did not need to take me from the battle field. You could have left me there to die.”

“It would not have been right.”

“Oh, just accept it, Beorn!” Thranduil snapped. “She’s as stubborn as a mule, our lady captain.”

Beorn arched a brow at the king. “I can’t imagine where she learned to be hard-headed.”

Tauriel smiled, amused by the king’s outburst. Beorn wondered if she knew how deep Thranduil truly regarded her.

“I do not know how you can repay me,” Beorn told her. “It was not something I was bothered in doing. I saw you lived. I knew you were an ally. So, I did what was natural and returned you to your people so you could be in the care of those who love you.”

Tauriel nodded. “If or when you know what you would like of me, do not hesitate to ask.”

She bowed to Thranduil before leaving the tent.

“Would it be so difficult to indulge her?” Thranduil asked.

“Difficult? No. There really is nothing she has that I need or want.” Beorn sipped from his glass. “She may do as she wishes, if she likes, but I will not demand anything of her.”

Thranduil hummed, arching a brow.

“You should tell her how you truly think of her,” he said. “She does not know you see her as a daughter, does she. Would she not deserve to?”

“It is not so simple as that,” Thranduil said. “I may see her as my daughter, but she is not my blood. Most would not understand.”

“I think they’d understand more than you think.”

_Especially after declaring her your daughter as you had after the battle. Distraught or no._

The king shrugged. “Feel free to stay with my caravan,” he said. “You may yet figure out something you would like. Tauriel will see it done.”

“I would not want to impose.”

“I am inviting you to stay. That is not the definition of imposing. More wine?”

“No. Thank you.”

#

“Hail and Welcome,” King Bard greeted them.

Beorn kept to the back of the caravan, not wanting to be noticed if he can help it. Thranduil greeted Bard with a slight bow, as was Elven custom, before clasping his shoulder.

 _I show you respect and know you as friend_ , the gestures meant.

He did not think he’d be able to make his escape for the mountain just yet, though everything in him told him he should.

Thankfully, Thranduil did not dare insist on him meeting the King of Dale. Still, he at least stayed for the feast that Bard had thrown to welcome the Elves.

The scent of meat made his stomach somersault. Beorn tried to stick with the vegetables and bread, but the smell of pork and mutton and beef overwhelmed his senses.

He dismissed himself from the hall and headed off to the mountain instead.

Once out of Dale and entering the fields that were once the Desolation, he changed into a bear. He sniffed the grass. New grass. Young. The earth was reviving.

It felt strong and healthy.

Even the air smelled better than in the city of Men.

Beorn walked on, looking for a place that would suit him better for resting, if only until morning and then he’d continue his way to the Mountain.

Would it smell as bad as Dale?

He hoped not.

Still, after he felt tired enough to rest, and was far enough from Dale, he found a flat area of earth with long, soft grass.

He sniffed the area for a bit, catching something else.

It was like air and magic.

Sweet and soft.

Female.

He lifted his head and turned toward what followed him. Though in the dark of night, her appearance was more hidden, he could see a glint of auburn.

Beorn snorted and laid down. She was no threat to him. He did not sense any hostility. A little fear, but also something…

Feline.

Curiosity, perhaps.

He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. He woke to a hand petting his head and scratching behind his ears. He eased back to sleep. The touch was harmless, as far as he was concerned.

It was also soothing…

#

He smelled…

Fire.

Smoke.

Beorn snapped up, growling at the fire. The female Elf with red hair stood and approached him, whispering in her tongue, soothing and calming.

The man inside him was beginning to wake as well, to see.

It was not a fire to fear.

It was controlled.

He let the man out.

Beorn exhaled, staring at the campfire, recognizing the fish smoking on it.

Tauriel’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Hungry?”

Beorn stared at her, frowning. Why did she follow him?

“I do not eat meat.”

“Oh…um…”

Her cheeks were tinged with red and she dared not look at him.

“I was held captive by Orcs,” he explained. “Often times, we were forced to eat the flesh of our kin that were killed in their fighting rings. You did not know, and I do not fault you for that.”

“I thought your diet would be more like any other sentient being.”

“It is, for the most part,” he said, taking one of the bread rolls. “I just don’t eat meat because of what I just said.” He bit into the bread. It was cold and plain, but still good. Even a little nutty.

“I can’t blame you for finding it revulsive,” she said. “But it does make all this a little awkward.”

Beorn hummed and swallowed. “Go on and eat the fish. No reason to let it go to waste.”

He could tell she still felt awkward from the way she lifted one of the fishes off the fire. She bit into it quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Lady Tauriel, you don’t need to feel bad,” he assured her. “You didn’t know. The gesture is a kind one.”

Her cheeks tinged and she took a larger bite after that.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Not awkward silence, but content silence. After they finished, Tauriel put the fire out and wrapped her cloak around her just a little tighter.

“It’s not that cold,” Beorn said.

“To you, perhaps,” she said. “Once we start walking, I’ll feel better.”

Walking?

“You intend to go to the mountain with me?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Tauriel said with a shrug.

“What of your king?”

“Thranduil doesn’t mind. He’s plenty of guards with him,” she said with such surety that Beorn almost believed her.

Again, he wondered if she knew how the Elven king regarded her. Would it not be better for her to know how he thought of her as his daughter?

Well, it wasn’t Beorn’s place to say one way or the other.

“If you insist, then try to keep up,” he said. Tauriel glared at him for that.

“I can keep up just fine, Skin Changer,” she snapped in a very princess-like manner. She’d probably not have noticed it with the way she held herself. “So long as you don’t change back into a bear and decide to race me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Beorn didn’t know how he would be received by the Dwarves of Erebor. He half expected it to be like how the Elves were not a week ago.

Hostile and cautious.

Instead, he and Tauriel were greeted genteelly and led to a vast hall.

The last time he had been here, the walls were cracked and stone crumbling.

It must be a testament to Dwarven talent and stamina for the hall to look so grand after so short a time.

The stone was restored and remade.

Every step he took was sure and stable.

Gems glimmered to give off light from the torches lining the walls, making the room brighter than it would normally be.

The king stood and approached them.

“You’re early, Beorn,” he said.

“It was either be early or stay in Dale. I decided to finish the trip.”

“Can’t blame you,” Thorin replied, smirking. “The room we’ve set for you is being prepared. Bilbo’s not too pleased with your early arrival.”

“I’m sure he’ll manage.”

Thorin nodded. “He always does –”

“Fami!”

“Thorin Irak’Adad!”

The King scooped up the littlest Dwarf Beorn had ever seen.

No.

That wasn’t quite right.

The littlest had been a newborn.

The king balanced the child on his hip, whispering something to the lad. He had deep red hair and big mischievous brown eyes.

Tauriel cooed.

“A child Dwarf! He’s so cute.”

“My great-nephew, Fami,” Thorin said, beaming. “He’s still a babe, actually.”

“After five years?” Beorn asked.

Thorin nodded.

“We age slower than Men,” he explained. “But Fami is old enough to speak. Simply, that is. He’s nearly the equivalent of a two-year-old child of Men.”

Tauriel had knelt and was doing all she could to make Fami laugh.

“I never would have thought you were good with children, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin scoffed. “Many have that assumption about me,” he said. “I happen to like children well enough. It’s when they grow up and become hellions that I’ve issue with.”

He arched a brow at his heir, who shrugged and grinned innocently.

“Bilbo manages tweens and young adults better than I ever could.”

 _Yet one would have thought it the opposite,_ Beorn thought.

Bilbo was soft and gentle by comparison to his betrothed. One would think he’d be better with little ones. To hear that it was the other way around seemed off to Beorn.

Even so, one could not deny the affection the gruff king held for the child, ignoring how the nursemaid tried to ease Fami away from his uncle.

Thorin just switched Fami to the other hip and reassured the servant that he had it in their guttural language. She stepped back after that, looking rather nervously at Beorn and Tauriel.

“Would it be all right if I held him a little bit?” Tauriel asked Thorin. “Or would it be best to ask his parents?”

“Personally, I don’t mind,” Thorin assured her. “But I fear his bearer would worry about the height.  Speaking of…” he looked at Fami and asked him in their language.

The child just grinned and shrugged as a Dwarf seemed to glide toward them. As well as Dwarf’s could.

He touched Thorin’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Adad!” Fami shouted, reaching for him, demanding for his father to hold him.

If Tauriel felt slighted or disappointed at not holding the child, even just a little bit, she didn’t show it as the Dwarf took his child in his arms before whispering to Thorin again.

The king nodded and sent him off.

“Feel free to visit the dining hall,” he told them. “Have something to eat and drink. Bilbo will find you when your rooms are ready.”

#

Tauriel couldn’t stop thinking of the little child happily tangling his hands in the king’s hair.

The king did not seem to mind the messy braid the babe had put in. Even proudly still wore it some hours later when he entered the dining hall with his betrothed.

She’d not ever seen a Hobbit before either.

He was a strange thing.

She could see similarities between her people and his.

The ears, most prominently.

The beardlessness another.

Though they had rather large feet compared to an Elf.

Bilbo approached the skin changer, looking a bit irate.

“Do you make a habit of driving your hosts into a frenzy!” he demanded of him, needing to stand on a chair to meet him in the eye. Beorn just grinned.

“If I recall, my home was beset unexpectedly by a Hobbit, a wizard, and thirteen Dwarves. Feel free to think of it as payback.”

“Oh, fine! Have it your way, then. I will. But don’t expect me to take being called a ‘bunny’ as easily here as I did in your own home.”

“You look like one, though,” Beorn said. Tauriel’s eyes widened. Could he get away with such insult?

The king was laughing silently, shoulders shaking. Bilbo smacked his shoulder. “Quiet, you.”

“But, _Ghivashel_ ,” Thorin chuckled. “You _do_ look like one. You’ve got rabbit feet. And the appetite of one. And your people are as skittery as rabbits. And –”

“Keep going, my love. You’re just getting closer to staying in the stables tonight.”

Thorin silenced, though he still grinned, telling Tauriel that the threat was without any merit or bite. And he knew it.

Bilbo turned his attention to Tauriel and bowed.

*A star shines on the hour of our meeting,* he replied in Sindarin.

Tauriel beamed. *May it shine ever more,* she replied. *Your Sindarin is perfect! Who taught you?*

*My mother was an adventurer and my father a scholar. I learned Sindarin and Quenya in tandem with the common tongue. My name is Bilbo Baggins, my lady. Might I ask your name?*

*Tauriel, Captain of the Greenwood Guard.*

*You are most welcome, Shield Woman.*

“Perhaps, _Ghivashel_ , you might include us in your conversation with Lady Tauriel?” Thorin requested.

“As if you don’t hold whole conversations in Khuzdul,” Bilbo scoffed. “I think I’m allowed a friend whom I can keep my Elfish sharp with. Who better to practice with than a native speaker?”

He turned back to Tauriel. “Apologies, my lady.”

“Captain is fine.”

Beorn coughed. It sounded terribly like he was saying, _princess_. Tauriel hoped her ears were deceiving her. Elsewise, she’d likely find a way to skin a bear.

“Are you all right, Beorn?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Something got caught in my throat. I’ll have a tea, though.”

Bilbo and Tauriel looked at each other again. She was glad to see that she was not the only one suspicious of Beorn’s sudden coughing fit.

“Speaking of tea, I won’t have anything ready for receiving either of you properly till tomorrow, but feel free to join me for tea time. Four o’clock in my private parlor. Keep in mind, Fami will be there and Thorin told me you already met him, so you know how he can be.”

“I don’t mind,” Tauriel said, beaming. “He’s adorable.”

“When he’s quiet, perhaps,” Bilbo sighed, “But with Kili there, too, he should behave a little better than usual. I say a little because with parents like Kili and Nori…”

“They’re better at raising the lad than you think,” Thorin pointed out. “And that’s given that I raised Kili. You saw what he’s like before we knew he was pregnant. It’ll be either a miracle or something to worry over if Fami ends up behaving differently than his parents…”

“I think the She-Elf is interested in having a bairn of her own,” Beorn mumbled.

Tauriel glared at him. “Say that to my face, Skin changer,” she snarled.

“Now, now,” Bilbo said. “Just because she’s interested in Fami doesn’t mean she’s ready to be a parent herself, Beorn.”

“The Hobbit has more sense than you do.”

Thorin hummed. “And I thought there was no way anyone could be more volatile than us, Ghivashel.”

“Oh, I still maintain the belief that Fili and Bofur still have their moments of volatility.”

“Good point. They do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul (via The Dwarrow Scholar)
> 
> Irak’Adad = Uncle
> 
> Adad = Father/Dad/Daddy


	4. Chapter 4

Tauriel had never had tea before.

Elves were more attuned to variants of wine. Their alcohol tolerance surpassed every other being in Middle Earth. Though the Dwarves liked to boast otherwise.

Still, she was open to new things and tea was certainly something new.

Bilbo set down a decorative kettle, which he called a tea pot, and matching little cups and tiny plates which the cups rested on top of. He called those tea cups and saucers.

There was also a platter of little sandwiches to match. And a plate of small cakes he called biscuits. Tauriel liked biscuits most. The cups seemed sturdy, but when she inquired about them more, she learned that they weren’t as sturdy as they seemed.

“Solid enough to do what they need to do, but they break easily,” Bilbo warned her.

Or rather Beorn, who looked like he was playing with a child’s set.

“Still, when handled carefully enough, they manage just fine. I do have to be careful when bringing out my antique sets, though. Thorin is certain he could have them repaired if need be, but still: those aren’t exactly replaceable.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to use something sturdier, then?” Tauriel asked, setting the cup down carefully. She really didn’t want to risk breaking anything if it could be helped.

“For tea? Sometimes. A cup is a cup, but there are certain protocols to follow.”

“You’re not in the Shire, anymore, Bilbo,” Beorn pointed out. “Wouldn’t those protocols better be left there, then?”

“Ha! You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I’ll have you know that those _protocols_ are part of my heritage. I’m not giving it up just because I’m marrying into another race and culture. Besides, there are some Dwarves who do happen to enjoy the finer things that come along with tea. Dori son of Riika, for instance. You met him on the quest. A good friend of mine. If not for that he is a Dwarf, he’d likely do well in the Shire. Easily. And Thorin can be genteel when he wishes to be.”

Beorn snorted at that. “Thorin? Genteel?”

“I know,” Bilbo replied, grinning. “My fiancé doesn’t seem the type, but he is a king. He had to learn these things whether he wanted to learn them or not. He may prefer a mug of ale or beer, but when necessary, he can handle these porcelains with more finesse than some of my stuffiest relatives.  Actually, I could say the same about Fili and Kili. Those two can be rather mischievous…well, Fili can. Parenthood mellowed Kili out a bit more.”

“I resent that!”

They turned to the newcomer. The Dwarf had a near nonexistent beard but plenty of braids in his hair. Fami was perched on his hip.

“I’m not mellowed out, Bilbo. More I’m wondering if I’m going to go bald as Dwalin what with the madness Nori gets into. Never mind this one.” He set Fami down. “I’ll have to start growing out my beard, then. But until then…”

Kili turned to Beorn and Tauriel. “Master Beorn.”

“Prince Kili. You seem better.”

“Ugh. I don’t know about that. Fami.”

Fami pulled his hand away from the biscuits, grinning at Kili.

“I know I’m not as adventurous as I was before. No thanks to this one. Fami would get into everything if he could.”

When certain Kili wasn’t looking, Fami snatched a biscuit and went to sit at Beorn’s feet.

Kili sighed. “Well, it’s tea time. He only likes to come to tea time because he can get sweets. I worry that his teeth’s going to rot.”

“Not one of his family would let that happen,” Bilbo assured him. “Not me, not Thorin, not Fili, certainly not you and Nori. Bofur…maybe. Fami will be fine. The least you’ll ever have to worry about is his teeth. Being a Dwarrow prince, he’s more likely to lose a limb.”

Kili glared at him. “Must you?”

“I’m only speaking the truth. He’ll have to take a craft someday.”

“Not for another twenty years,” Kili snapped. “By then, I won’t have to worry about lost limbs. Fili and I spent ages in the forge with Thorin during our wandering days. We were fine.”

“You never got hurt?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Kili mumbled.

Fami stood to get another biscuit, but Kili cleared his throat and arched a brow, saying something in Dwarven which stilled the child’s hand and he sat back down, pouting.

“I hate it, but I know I have to let him get hurt here and there. That’s how you learn. As long as I’m there, I think I can handle it.”

“What about me?” Bilbo asked, affronted. “Or your brother? Uncle? You don’t even trust your own husband with his own son? Last I checked Nori was Fami’s father, too.”

While Kili tried to explain that he did trust his family with family, Tauriel took another biscuit, broke it in half, and handed the smaller half to Fami. His eyes lit up and he took it, thanking her quietly. He climbed into her lap as he ate.

Tauriel bit back a whine, happy to hold the child at last. She kept him steady, finishing her own half. Fami twisted around to look at her. He stared. She guessed he wasn’t used to seeing an Elf. Fami patted her nose and cheeks, awed at the softness of her skin.

Then one hand grabbed her ear and tugged.

“Ouch,” Tauriel cried.

“ _Lu’Fami_!” Kili shouted, jumping forward to rescue Tauriel from Fami’s grip. “Sorry about that,” he said, pulling Fami out of reach of Tauriel’s ears. “He’s only been around Dwarves and Bilbo, so…”

“It’s all right. He’s still too little to know better,” she said, rubbing the offended ear.

“True, but even so…”

“Kili, you’re too hard on yourself,” Bilbo said, taking another sip of tea. “Fami is yours and Nori’s. Lad’s going to be a troublemaker no matter what you do.”

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Kili said, rolling his eyes. “For your overwhelming confidence.”

#

The feast welcoming the Elven caravan and the Men of Dale seemed to be piled with various dishes. Several of which were of differing meats and pastas.

He almost didn’t attend because he worried that he might grow ill from the smell of cooked meat. He was glad to find that it was not the case. He might be able to tolerate the scents of it, but thankfully, no one expected him to partake in it with them.

He was glad enough to settle for a vegetable soup Bilbo had introduced to his new people. It was laden with tomatoes, beans, lentils, spices, and noodles. No meat. Beorn was glad to try it and enjoyed a second bowl of it, mopping up the remnants of soup juice with a bread roll.

Merry voices raised in high spirits as Elves, Men, and Dwarves grew inebriated on wine, ale, and beer. The Elvenking seemed amused at their joy. More so when the Kings of Dale and Erebor attempted to keep up with him.

“They’d best stop while they’re ahead,” Tauriel said, sitting beside Beorn.

She was not the sort to adorn herself in a lady’s attire, but the soft purple gown suited her. Her hair, usually pulled out of her face, now flowed freely down her back and shoulders. She wore a simple silver circlet around her head.

Beorn held back complimenting her. He’d likely end up insulting her accidently and he really didn’t want to do that.

“Thranduil has a rather strong liver compared to most. Even some of the oldest living Elves cannot keep up with his tolerance.”

“Either way, we get free entertainment,” he said.

Tauriel grinned. “Very true. Though I’ve the feeling that Bilbo doesn’t agree.”

At the head table, Bilbo was trying to reel Thorin in before he made a bigger fool of himself. The princes and their consorts, however, were encouraging the Dwarven King into more shenanigans.

“Just adds to it,” he said, smiling at her. “How about your tolerance, my lady?”

“Lady? Me? Ha! Captain will do just fine,” she said. “And I’m afraid I am not the sort to partake in alcohol too much. My duties require me to remain sober most of the time, I’m afraid. Not that I don’t enjoy a good drink here and then. I do enjoy it. It’s more a luxury for me than that.”

“And the gown?”

“Oh? Do you not like it?” she asked, arching a brow.

“I do. It’s just not…what I’d expect of you.”

Her grin widened and she pulled the skirt up, revealing that beneath the gown she wore her breeches and boots.

“What would your king say?”

“Nothing. He’s used to it by now. He knows he can’t force me to dress like a proper lady no matter how much he would prefer it. If only once in a while, I suppose…This was the best compromise we could come up with. This way, if there is a risk to his life, I can still do my duty.”

“So, you never get drunk, then.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “I take breaks when I need to. Can’t always be on guard, after all.”

#

“My Lord Thranduil,” Bilbo said, giving up on keeping his lover and kin in line. “Have you noticed Lady Tauriel and Master Beorn?”

“Noticed?” Thranduil asked. “I’m doing everything I can to set it up.”

“I thought you’d hate for your daughter to wed a man that was not an Elf.”

“Beorn, I believe, is a good man. He saved her life. I have no qualms sanctioning a union between him and my captain.”

“Captain? Don’t you mean daughter?”

Thranduil shrugged.

“You are allowed to show emotion, you know,” Bilbo said.

“I fear I would risk resembling your beloved Dwarf too much.”

“No. You’re too tall and too blond and too Elfish for that.” Thranduil laughed merrily at that. “The Goddess knows I love him, but Thorin is his own brand of dramatic. Still, getting those two together could be a bit…”

“Oh, I think, they’ll do just fine,” Thranduil said. “With the right amount of pushing.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said. “The _right_ amount.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> Lu’Fami = Fami, no!


	5. Chapter 5

Beorn stood in the back where he wouldn’t obstruct the view for the other guests. It’d be nice to be closer and see the grooms, but he couldn’t say he minded being out of the way.

A couple children were distracted, staring at him. He ignored them for the most part. Their parents will handle them. Or so he hoped.

A little Dwarfling raced down the aisle, pattering on tiny feet. Beorn realized it was Fami as Kili raced after the babe and scooped him up. He returned to their seat, trying to calm Fami.

Music echoed off the stone just as the doors opened, admitting Thorin and Bilbo, walking down the aisle together. Several sighed, taken in by the sight of the lovers. They seemed to be like soul mates out of a fairy tale.

Almost as though Beren and Luthien had returned.

“Quite the regal pair, aren’t they?”

Beorn glanced down at Tauriel, who, once again, was donned in a houppelande gown. Her hair was held back in a silver crown.

“One could say that,” he said. “They seem happy, at least. We’re just here to support them.”

“And witness them solidify their bond,” Tauriel pointed out. “In a few minutes, Erebor will have another ruler. They say that Bilbo will be named Prince Consort. Some wonder what sort of title best goes with it. Highness? Majesty?”

Beorn snorted. “Somehow I feel he’s going to hate that.”

“Likely will. I know I would,” she said. “He’ll have to get used to it, being married to a king and all.”

“I would think you’d expect to grow up knowing you’d marry another elven king or lord.”

“Ugh,” Tauriel groaned. “No thank you. I couldn’t do it, being trapped in another cage. My king is maddening enough. I can’t imagine what sort of Elf he’d try to set me up with. I’ll likely run away from the Greenwood first.”

At the other end of the hall, Thorin took a lock of Bilbo’s hair and weaved a braid in it, reciting his vows with a bright smile.

Bilbo repeated the motions and the words before Thorin leaned down and kissed him, one hand cupping Bilbo’s cheek.

The hall erupted in cheers, even as Bilbo knelt to receive his crown.

“What do you want, then, Princess?” Beorn asked.

“For you to stop calling me ‘princess,’ to start.”

“No can do.”

Tauriel glowered at him. Then she sighed, lowering her hands to her sides.

“I want to be free. Being a warrior and soldier does that somewhat. Marriage would not suit me. I wouldn’t know what sort of person, let alone a male, would accept someone like me and let me be me.”

“I can understand that,” he said. “No one deserves to be caged, no matter the form of the cage. I think your king knows that in his own way. He just wants to protect his people and he doesn’t know what other ways will work. Or would you say he’s not overprotective.”

“I always thought him controlling. I never thought of it in terms of wanting to protect,” Tauriel said, staring at Thranduil. She shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine my king wanting to be anything other than controlling of everything and everyone around him.”

#

The reception was as loud and boisterous as the last time they feasted.

Beorn took a seat far from the mayhem, enjoying his soup and salad. There was a noodle dish, too, that had not even meat juice.

He liked it for the most part, though he thought he’d like it more if it were warm.

He washed down the food with mead, content to remain a spectator as the dance floor filled with Dwarves, Men, and Elves.

Bilbo collapsed into a seat beside him, panting from exertion and beaming brightly.

“Go on, Beorn,” he said. “I think you earned the right to a dance. Even Gandalf is there, having a merry old time with Lady…so-and-so. Can’t be bothered to remember her name right now. Dwarven noble-woman, though.”

“I’m not much for these events. And I fear I might crush peoples’ feet.”

“Nonsense! I think Lady Tauriel would _love_ to have at least _one_ dance with you before the night ends.”

Beorn arched a brow at the Hobbit.

“I am larger than most here, but I am no giant, nor am I a fool.”

“In what way have I insinuated you were a fool?” Bilbo squeaked. “I never did! And if I had, then I apologize, Master Beorn. It was not intended. What _was_ intended was to encourage my friend – for I consider you a friend – to pursue a lovely lady who seems quite smitten with him. And, I dare say, you are smitten with her, as well.”

“Bilbo, you are drunk.”

“I’m married now,” Bilbo declared. “I think I’ve every right to a celebratory drink or two. Or ten.”

Beorn chuckled.

“I’m among Dwarves, who think they can outdrink the most alcoholic Elves in all of Middle Earth. Thranduil, for instance, can drink three – no. _Ten_ bottles of wine in a day, and still won’t be suitably inebriated. Mind, I mean whole bottles.

“My gorgeous husband, though, he and I could drink two bottles a piece before we are passed out drunk. Maybe two and a half bottles…”

“Still, I think I will be all right here where I will not accidently break anything or anyone, Little Bunny.”

“For the record,” Bilbo twisted around to face him, glaring. “I am not little. I’m perfectly average for a Hobbit. In fact, I’m on the tall side of average. And I’m _not_ a bunny. At all. My ears are not floppy enough, for one.”

“But your feet are big enough.”

Bilbo lifted his legs into the air and stared at his feet.

“Fair enough. They are. Go ask the she-Elf for a dance before I kick you with my bunny feet.”

“I doubt it’ll hurt.”

“I can kick very hard, I’ll have you know. Come now, I’ve seen the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you. There’s something there, even if you don’t want to see it. Would it be really that bad to, oh, I don’t know, indulge?”

Beorn took another drink of mead. “I am a Skinchanger, to start. She is an elf. I am mortal. She is immortal. I am also far larger in every way compared to most other males, regardless their race.”

“Uh-huh,” Bilbo hummed. “And? Thorin is a Dwarf. He has seen nearly two hundred years pass. I’ll hardly see a century, and that’s if I’m lucky. We’re making it work. And say she doesn’t care about the mortality issue, or the size issue – some enjoy that immensely – is that not for her to choose?

“Yes, you’re the last of your kind. To bring the Skinchangers back into existence, you’ll have to mate with a female from another race. Why not an Elf. They have magic, too. It’ll be a new kind of Skinchanger. But even if you decide _not_ to repopulate your people, would you deny yourself companionship? At least think on it, Beorn. I think you and Tauriel would be an interestingly wonderful couple, if it goes there.”

A Dwarf shouted in their native tongue, eliciting a cheer from the crowd. Beorn raised his mug in solidarity as Bilbo was pulled back onto the dance floor by his elder nephew.

Beorn glanced at Tauriel, dancing with one of the soldiers of Bard’s guard.

 _Is our relationship heading that way?_ He wondered.

He didn’t mind Tauriel. She was a kindly young woman. Granted, she had many years more already than Beorn did, and he knew that it would not be a light thing for her to decide she wanted to be in a romantic relationship with him.

And that would be if he wanted a romantic relationship with _her_.

He decided he’d need more mead.

Or, preferably, something much stronger.


	6. Chapter 6

The wedding reception lasted long into the night. Many came and went of their own free will. The King and Consort had gone to bed some hours ago – as had the rest of the royal family.

Beorn could hear the merriment, though he had returned to his room. It certainly didn’t help that he couldn’t sleep, thoughts fixated on the Elf-maid.

Tauriel was an exceptional Elf, no doubt of it…

But Beorn couldn’t believe that the princess (that loved to deny that she wasn’t a princess) would be interested in him in such a way that would allow for him to have children. Kin.

Others who were like him.

No.

There was no way Tauriel would want that. Motherhood was not something she would likely want. Especially not now. She was young by Elven standards. Hardly full grown. Of age, but still…

Was she still too much of a child?

Beorn didn’t know.

He gave up any hope of getting enough rest this night and left the room, wandering the halls. Dwarves and Elves silenced when he approached, moving out of his way. He let it be, used to the shunning.

“Can’t sleep, Master Beorn?”

He turned to Tauriel. “Neither can you, it seems.”

“More like I’m not tired,” she replied, grinning at him. She had changed back into her preferred attire, now that the ceremonial parts had come to an end. “It’s not the same as the forest, but it’s nice, in its own way. The mountain, I mean. The air feels too thin, but…”

“The altitude,” Beorn surmised. “It can be a bit much for those who are not used to it. Though I would expect you’d be used to thinner air as the trees can, on occasion, be as high as a mountain.”

“None of the ones I’d climbed have been this high, I admit,” she said. “So, if there are any trees like that, I would love to see them. I do not know if a forest is as old as a mountain…and mountains come into being differently, anyway. Don’t they?”

Beorn nodded. He didn’t know how, but mountains and trees were not the same. They did not form the same way. Surely.

“I heard tell that the Earth moves and sometimes two plots of earth beneath the soil will collide and break and rise causing earthquakes. And when earthquakes arise, so can the earth and that mountains are the result of many earthquakes over the ages.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Beorn said. “Perhaps it is not. I get the feeling, Princess, that you’re not here to discuss mountains.”

Tauriel glowered at him. “I am not a princess. Stop calling me that.”

“Do you know how your king reacted when I brought you to him, Lady Tauriel? After the battle?”

Tauriel looked at him, then shook her head.

“He was distressed. To me, it seemed like the reaction a father has when his child is near death. He might not act much like a father to you, but he loves you as a daughter. That is why I call you ‘princess.’”

Tauriel scoffed. “I find it hard to believe that Thranduil would think of me as a daughter.”

“That is my observation alone,” Beorn said, shrugging. “I think you’d agree, if you asked him what he thought of you.”

“Perhaps that I disappoint him, then. I’m not much of a lady, let alone a princess.” Tauriel leaned against the wall, avoiding Beorn’s stare. “I still owe you for saving my life.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“But I do. If not for you, I would have died. So, please, let me fulfill my debt. Anything you ask I will fulfill it.” Beorn arched a brow. Some might take advantage of that offer. Surely, she knew. He stared at her, seeing that she certainly did.

“I do not want to take advantage of that offer.”

“Then I doubt any thing you ask of me would count as taking advantage of me,” Tauriel said, smiling gently. “After all, you can say that you want me to be your wife and I’d have to accept it.”

“Against your will? That’s no marriage. That would be slavery.”

Her grin widened. “I agree.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” Beorn sighed. “How about a dance, then?”

“There’s no music.”

Beorn scoffed. “There’s singing still going on, from what I hear. That’s music enough.”

Tauriel pushed herself off the wall and approached him. She took his hands in his and placed one of his hands on her waist while she held the other in her hand. Beorn inhaled and pulled her along to the steady rhythm of the Dwarven song.

It was slow, sweet…

A love song or a lament, perhaps. He didn’t know the words. It wasn’t much of a dance. It was clumsy, mostly swaying to the melody echoing off the stone. The moonlight reflected in her hair, and she seemed as ethereal as any other Elf. Perhaps more so.

She was beautiful. Even if she didn’t want to think of herself as a princess, she was definitely so. A warrior princess. Beautiful and fierce as the mother bear, the lioness, and the she-wolf.

She rested her head on his chest. Beorn felt his face flush, but he never stopped leading her. He felt they were watched. Looking around as he led her in the dance, he caught sight of Thranduil, giving them a soft smile.

 _Thank you, Beorn,_ he heard the King’s voice in his head. _I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say that enough._

 _You should tell her how you really think of her_ , he sent back. _She deserves to know you regard her as a daughter._

Thranduil shifted his gaze to Tauriel. He shook his head. _She and I are too much alike. Yes, I think of her as my daughter, but she would never believe me if I told her._

_Tell her anyway._

The king looked at him again, then vanished down the hall.

“Erm…Tauriel, if you like…if you ever need to get out of the Greenwood for any reason, you are welcome to come to my house. You’d be welcome there.”

She lifted her head off his chest and stared at him. “I would like that, Beorn. Thank you.” She stopped the dance and lifted up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

~One Month Later~

Beorn hefted his axe, swinging it down on the wood, splitting it in two. He grabbed another log and balanced it on the trunk.

His ponies knickered and he could smell the arrival of a horse.

And its rider.

He split the log and abandoned the work to see who had dared approach his home.

Not an Orc. Which was good. He’d rather tear an Orc or Goblin apart before figuring out what brought it so close to his house.

It wasn’t a Man or a Dwarf, either. Each had a distinctive scent…

Elf, then?

Beorn opened the door and a raised fist gently rapped against his chest.

“Oh! Sorry, Master Beorn,” Tauriel said, lowering her hand. “I’ve been…well, my King told me I should take a break. I thought – if the offer still stands – to take advantage of my holiday and visit. Should I have sent word first? It was rather sudden…”

“Tauriel, come inside. You will always be welcome here, whether I am aware or not.”

She relaxed and entered the hall…

From there…

Well, only they, and their son know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Oof...I did my best but this one was hard...seriously, my muse was just "meh" when I needed them to be "HOOYA!!!" Thanks for sticking with it this long. Can't say when I'll get the next part of the series up.
> 
> Story based on Bearskin:   
> https://www.worldoftales.com/fairy_tales/Brothers_Grimm/Grimm_fairy_stories/Bearskin.html

**Author's Note:**

> Sindarin:
> 
> Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn = A star shines on the hour of our meeting


End file.
